Dark Lord Hermione Granger AU
by headcanonsandmore
Summary: A short drabble about Hermione Granger as a dark lord, and her reasoning behind it. Requested by an anon on my Tumblr.


The dark lord Hermione Granger rested back in her chair.

She always hated staying in this place. The long corridors and enormous rooms were a relic of the pureblood supremacist past. She knew that better than most people. She supposed this was the place where it had all started. When this huge house was still called "Malfoy Manor".

The world had changed so much since then. The old order had been destroyed, and the British wizarding community had altered beyond all recognition.

Sure, there had been sacrifices that had to be made. But it was all for the cause. "For the greater good", as Dumbledore had once put it. Granger hadn't thought about that man in years; his weak-willed ways had long since stopped being an inspiration for Hermione. Too many had died. Tom Riddle had been wrong about most things, but he was fully correct on this matter; there was only power, and those too weak to seek it.

So Granger had done just that. She had taken power. So that no innocents would ever be pulled into the firing lines again.

This old house still made her uncomfortable, though. Not that she would ever show it; fear was for the weak. It was pointless to still have lingering fears about the place, especially after almost twenty years.

And besides, it was the perfect place to draw Potter into the open.

'My lady?'

The door of the room opened.

'We've apprehended Potter, ma'am. He was trying to apparate into the building, and the censors went off.'

Granger smiled at her subordinate.

'You're done well, Matthews.'

'Thank you, my lady. Do you wish him to be sent to Azkaban?'

Granger deliberated, softly stroking her wand as she did so. It was a habit she had fallen into, but she loved her wand. It wasn't her first wand, sadly; but it was the nearest thing. She had always had an affinity for dragon heart-string cores, and this particular one did not disappoint.

'No,' she finally said. 'Bring him to me; I'd like to speak with him.'

'Yes, my lady.'

Matthews disappeared, and –in the distance- Granger could hear the sound of scuffling and raised voices.

_Oh, Potter…_ she thought to herself… _he always was one for theatrics, wasn't he…_

The door burst open, and a chained figure was thrown bodily to the ground in front of the dark lady's chair. The figure awkwardly pulled himself up onto his knees. Granger reclined in her seat, surveying the man before her, as the door slammed shut again.

The intervening years had not been kind to Potter. The scar on his forehead was now one of a multitude covering his skin, and his arms were permanently bruised and battered. The dark hair was now speckled with premature greying, and the green eyes (that used to be so fiery) were now filled with a downcast world-weariness.

'Potter, how lovely to see you again.' Granger said, sipping some water from a nearby goblet. 'We haven't had a chance to catch up in a long time.'

Potter bit back an angry laugh.

'Likewise.' His voice was gruff and hoarse, as if he hadn't slept properly in months. 'Sorry I couldn't bring any gifts; your friends don't seem to like me that much.'

'Oh, I don't mind.' The dark lady replied. 'And they have their uses. By the sounds of it, you forgot about the apparation-detection spells. You never were one for thinking ahead, were you?'

'Let's just say I had someone I could rely on for that.'

'Things change, though.' Granger said. 'You do realise that -as the saviour of the wizarding world- you get away with a lot more than other people would in your situation. Bad for morale if we executed the boy who lived, you see.'

Potter chuckled.

'And here I thought you still had a soft spot for me, sister⸺'

'I'm not your sister.' Granger said, standing up. 'Not for a long time. At least, those were your words on the matter.'

Potter let out a laugh. Angry and harsh.

'Yeah. Ever since you started carting off innocent people to Azkaban, and executing anyone who stood in your way. No sister of mine would do that.'

'I was never your sister to begin with, Potter.' Granger replied, coolly. 'We were allies, comrades⸺'

'_I _was under the impression we were friends. Not that we were alone, of course. We had Ron as⸺'

There was a deafening crack, as Granger slapped him across the face. Blood trickled out of Potter's mouth.

'Don't you _dare_ say his name in my presence.' Granger whispered. 'Or I really _will_ have you executed.'

'Too much of a reminder of all you've done wrong, eh?' Potter laughed, humourlessly. 'Too much of a reminder that he would hate the person you've become⸺'

Another slap. Granger saw Potter's face begin to redden.

'I did all this for him.' She said, tonelessly. 'A better world. A better future.'

'A better dictatorship.' Potter muttered, his face beginning to swell. 'You ever thought about changing your middle name to 'Jane' so you can match with Umbridge? Oh, wait, I forgot; we never found her body.'

'I am _nothing_ like Umbridge. She was too willingly to let innocents die for her own power.'

'And yet you're still sending innocent people off to Azkaban.'

'That's for re-education. We don't torture them; the dementors were driven out of the place and destroyed.'

'"Re-education"?' Potter scoffed. 'The irony is delicious.'

'It's rehabilitation. Everything is above-board.'

Potter went silent for a moment.

'And the people we never found? What happened to them? Was that above-board, too?'

Granger let out a sigh.

'Being a leader means making hard choices. Sacrifices needed to be made.'

'Keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel any better.'

'It's the truth.'

Silence from Potter again. Then⸺

'You know what the difference between you and Ron is?'

'Shut up.'

'Ron was willing to put his own head on the line⸺'

'Shut up!'

'⸺Ron never willingly let other people die just to save his own neck⸺'

'SHUT UP!'

'⸺He would have sacrificed himself before he let anything to me or you⸺'

'I SAID SHUT UP!'

'⸺And he did, didn't he? He sacrificed himself to save you, and this is how you repay him⸺'

'SHUT UP, POTTER!'

With a flash of her wand, Granger swiped across Potter's face, leaving a great cut through the skin. Potter gave out a grunt of pain, and dropped to his knees.

Matthews and several others burst into the room, and roughly pulled Potter to his feet, but bent his head so that he was staring up at the dark lady. His glasses –broken and mangled- hung disjointedly off his nose.

'You really think Ron would be proud of what you've created?' Potter spat, blood streaming down his face. 'This dictatorship? This dark regime? After all he did for us⸺'

'I've created a country whose children will never have to go through what happened to us!' Granger bellowed into his face. 'Where good men don't die throwing themselves into the firing line! _Where no-one will ever lose the love of their life because of a pureblood supremacist with a knife!_'

Potter struggled against the many arms holding him in place, and his face was lined with rage and renewed grief. Tears poured down his face, mixing with the blood from the raw cut.

'Ron died because certain people decided that some lives aren't worth as much as others! Because Tom Riddle decided that he knew best! How are you any different from that?'

There was a pause. Granger continued to breath heavily, her eyes ablaze with fury.

'Take him away!' She yelled at her subordinates, and Potter was dragged towards the door, still struggling. 'I hope you enjoy Azkaban, Potter!'

'You said it yourself; the dementors were destroyed!' Potter screamed. 'Azkaban won't hold me!'

'Then I'll capture you again and send you somewhere else!'

'Oh, please! Admit it; you just want to avoid reminding yourself of your own guilt! Because you know Ron would never want this! He loved you, he loved you so much, he loved you more than he loved himself; he died in your arms on that beach!⸺'

'SHUT UP!'

The door slammed behind Potter as he was dragged out, and Granger was once again alone. She always had been alone, even as a child. She was used to it.

The dark lady leaned against the desk that was placed against the wall. Looking down, she saw the untidy scrawl that she could always recognise, no matter how much time had passed. The same two initials, scratched into the woodwork as a permanent memory that _he _had existed. There were several 'Chudley Cannons' stickers still attached to the old wooden surface. It reminded her of times long since gone; of Quidditch matches in orchards, of sharing sweets on the Hogwarts Express, and the freshly mown grass of the Devon countryside. And of the sweet, brave, kind-hearted boy she had given her heart to.

All she had created in the years since had been necessary. So that what happened during the last war would never happen again. It had all been necessary… _right?_

Emotion did not show on Granger's face, but -in a small part of her heart that she had long since closed off- a teenage girl with bushy hair sobbed, crying the name of the red-headed boy she had loved and lost.


End file.
